


Blackberries Wild

by SaltyWords (agent4hire22)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Cannon for 13.13, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, This is because I never wrote a reunion fic, brief mention of suicidal ideation, canon divergent after 13.12, sensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 09:50:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13855299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent4hire22/pseuds/SaltyWords
Summary: “You’re angry,” Cas said with a sigh, “I understand. But I don’t understand why you’re mad at me. I didn’t do this. I didn’t actively seek out Lucifer, or Asmodeus—”“I’m mad because I can’t handle losing you again, you idiot! And you don’t even care!”





	Blackberries Wild

**Author's Note:**

> This didn't get fully flushed out, but I wanted to post it anyway because I never did do a reunion fic. I hope you'll all forgive me for the lack of smut.  
> I also want to thank the ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL [ Aoichou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoichou/pseuds/Aoichou) for beta-ing this, even though I didn't have the entire thing done when I gave it to her. So, please, any/all typos are mine.

“What the hell? How do you waltz back in here, telling me you’ve been in Hell’s prison for the last few weeks, and act like it’s nothing?” Dean growled, and if he’d had feet before, they sure were missing now. He was pretty much numb from the teeth down. _Well,_ everything except his fucking cheeks, anyway. They were on fire. But, as much as he wanted to think that was because Sam had cranked up the heat after excusing himself from the argument, it was actually probably because of that nonchalant expression Cas had on his face. 

“Because it was nothing,” Cas said, measured and slow. “I handled it.”

“Oh, you handled it? That why you’ve got blood on your shirt? Cuz that don’t look like spatter, man. That looks a helluva lot like it’s yours.” 

Cas shuffled, eyes hitting the dim lights behind Dean before swimming back, all but confirming him right. “I handled it,” he said again, low. 

“That ain’t handling it, Cas! That’s gambling with something you just got back!”

“And what would you have had me do differently—?”

“How ‘bout you start by not repeating the same fucking sequence of events that got you dead the last time!”

Cas sucked cheeks between his teeth. “Okay—” he said, scoffing, “fine. Where should I start? I hid nothing from you. I took nothing from you. I told you I was going after Jack before I went. I called you with updates along the way—until I was captured. And when I escaped, I came straight here!” He marked the points on his fingers like Dean was keeping tally. “It’s absolutely nothing like last time!” 

“Bullshit! If that were true, you wouldn’t be hiding the bit about Lucifer—”

“What _bit_?”

Dean prickled. “Don’t play dumb with me right now,” and Cas threw a loose shrug.

_“What bit, Dean?”_

_“_ The bit where you convince me that _I Hate Luci_ and _Kentucky Fried Chicken_ fell outta the sky on you at the same time to drag ya downstairs! Now, since I got it on good authority that they ain’t friendly, that tells me you’re skipping some serious exposition! So… tell me, how long were you holed up with The Devil before The Colonel showed up? Did you know during that phone call we had that got cut off? Huh? Before then?”

Cas swallowed. Chewed his cheeks as his hands dropped. “You’re angry,” he said with a sigh, “I understand. But I don’t understand why you’re mad at me. I didn’t do this. I didn’t actively seek out Lucifer, or Asmodeus—”

“I’m mad because I can’t handle losing you again, you idiot! And you don’t even care!”

Cas snapped shut, eyes falling wide as whatever defense he had primed in his mouth floundered away mute. Dean froze _. What the hell did I just—?_ and it suddenly felt like the air slipped out of the room. The floor turned to eggshells. 

“Dean… I—”

“No—that’s not…” He buried his eyes in the heels of both hands, and blinked hard, had to remind himself to breathe. “You know what? Forget it. I’m just tired. Sam’s been…Sam, and I… It’s fine…Everything’s fine. I’m glad you’re back—let’s leave it at that. No pokin’ holes. We’ve got enough problems without poking holes, right?” 

He fished an unconvincing smile out and tried it on, ignored how flat it felt, but didn’t wait for Cas to call him on it. He pushed past in what was probably too hasty an escape to downplay later, and hopped the step to the hall. 

He had to get the hell out. Just _fuck it,_ he thought, chest tight enough to pop strings _._ He was gonna get to his room, shut the door, and turn Zepp on as loud as his headphones would go. He’d drown this mess out while he waited for the sun to come around again. And when it did, he’d find his game-face in whatever corner of his psyche he had it buried, paste it back on, and figure out what the hell he had to sweep under the rug to get through waffles and coffee in the morning. _Till it was all normal again._

“You’re the reason I’m back,” Cas said suddenly from behind. Dean slowed. Stopped. Screamed at himself not to turn around, but did anyway.

“What?” 

Cas’ head was low, eyes nailed into the floor at his feet. “It’s because of you,” he said quietly. “That’s why I’m back.”

Dean tested a breath, listened to it huff out. “No, Jack’s the reason you’re back.”

“Jack’s what woke me, Dean. Not what brought me back.” His eyes hopped up and hit Dean like bullets, red at the rims and glossy now in the lamplight. “I came back for you.”

The words caught in Dean’s shoulders, managed to pull him tighter as they bumped that damn thermostat up another notch. “Wha—” He shuffled. “What’re you saying to me right now?”

“I don’t know… I guess… I’m saying I do care… and maybe I’m asking if we could talk sometime.”

Dean felt outside himself. Like there was nothing he could say to that that could ever express what he’d been through-- _what he’d thought about._ Even worse, there was nothing either one of them were ever gonna say that was gonna change things. They were too set. Too _needle stuck in a groove_ to talk their way out now, after everything _._ So, he shook his head, puffed “No,” and watched the confidence Cas had been building slip. 

“No,” Cas repeated, quiet, eyes dancing away then scattering around the floor at his feet. The vulnerability in his face made Dean stiff. _Bad stiff—_ like all his joints were locked up, and he was gonna need a whole can of WD-40 to get moving again. But, he somehow made it back up that step, thoughts of wild blackberries running rampant through his head; _sweet and tangy, and so hard to pick without getting stung_ —

_Don’t fucking do it, you’re gonna get stung—_

But, he got Cas’ face between his hands anyway, thumbs running arcs over his cheeks. “We suck at talking,” he whispered as he took another hit of that otherworldly blue straight to his gut. Then, he kissed Cas slow. 

Warm body, sharp stubble. A taste sitting on his skin like honey. Dean listened to the broken breath Cas grabbed from between them as their mouths met. Felt the little jump of his bottom lip, like a quick, heartbeat-skip as he caught up to the moment and kissed Dean back. The air between them might as well have been lightning. The charge Cas had under his skin felt strong enough to power a damn car. It culled goosebumps where it ran. It rose the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck, his arms, and it kept digging till it had him by the stomach and he was begging for air.

_Fuck, Dean. You gotta stop—_

Dean gasped their lips apart, hands still needy at Cas’ face, and a feeling like someone was trying to tear his heart out pulsing through his nerves. “Okay,” he huffed, throaty, trying to mad-grab some composure from the remarkably thin space between them. 

Cas unburied the fist he’d balled at some point into the front of Dean’s shirt, hands going out now, like he’d been told he shouldn’t touch. “Yes. Okay…” he huffed back. _Call and response._ His eyes found Dean in a tentative check, and it was enough of a hit to rip Dean’s gut open, fresh. 

Dean shivered, tried to swallow, but his throat was too tight. He pawed Cas’ face instead, this _new,_ bright-white burn pulling through him. He let Cas nose him, chased the heat of it. His touch. Flirted another open-lipped kiss into him as their foreheads brushed, another whisper of electricity going straight to Dean’s toes in spades _._

The situation was slipping quick.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut.“Okay,” he whispered again, then, “Goodnight,” and he peeled away, fists balled at his sides and an internal monologue like a skipped record.

_Good. Fine. Get to the room. Just get to the room. To the room—_

He fumbled the knob, slammed the bedroom door behind him, and fell against it. He buried his face, both hands, felt the shaking through his ribs like he’d taken an EpiPen straight to the aorta. His vision speckled, the strength stole from his knees. He slid down the wood to the floor, heart so far up his throat, he was pretty sure it’d permanently relocated. “Oh, you stupid sonofabitch,” he gasped to his palms. “You shouldn’t-a done that,” then, “But you did, so _why the fuck did you leave_?”

A knock at his door suddenly sent Dean’s stomach flying again, and he almost cracked his head into the wood as he startled straight. “Dean,” Cas said, voice muffled. Dean didn’t move. Forgot to breathe. He imagined Cas tucked up against the wood, glancing the way of Sam’s door to make sure it stayed closed. Maybe his heart was racing too. _Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he could actually feel his face?_

“Dean, please.”

Dean wasn’t exactly sure what the plan was, but holding the floor down seemed to be going pretty smoothly so far. He let out a shaky breath, glanced desperately around the room for something to help. _Anything_. But a fat lotta good it did him. There was nothing pointing back but the cold concrete under his ass and a closet full of neatly lined shoes— _mocking—_ like tomorrow was gonna be just another day. _A normal fucking day with normal fucking shoes._

He swept the beer bottles on his nightstand, all empty. But, behind them, an open fifth of Wild Turkey winked back. Top loosely screwed, and just enough liquor left in the bottom to slap some of the shock out.

“Dean?”

“Yeah,” he finally rasped back. He bowed into his hands again, wiped the sweat from his temples, and scrambled up. Grabbed the bottle and downed what it had left to offer him. He took the burn with tight teeth, and a shudder, then, he summoned up his best angel-level nonchalance, and popped the door— _just a crack_. 

He cleared his throat. “What’s up?”

Cas stared at him, mouth open, face couched in hallway shadow. “ _What’s up?_ ” he parroted, flat. “What’s up is that you just left.” 

“Yeah?”

“How can you just walk away?”

“We gonna fight all night? Cuz I really need my three hours.”

Cas bristled. “I swear, you’re the most frustrating person—”

“Oh, careful. That’s some real _pot-kettle_ territory you’re treading in now—”

Cas forced the door open, and, as Dean caught himself on the frame, Cas caught him by the collar. Pulled him forward and kissed him hard. Dean melted into it so quick, he was sure the kiss in the library hadn’t actually ended. He tasted Cas’ bottom lip, the tip of his tongue. Felt that little nip of that crooked bottom tooth as Cas grazed him rough.

Dean suddenly felt like he was spinning out. Like this was all a dream, and he’d wake up again at any moment with Cas still dead. He’d be turning that stupid fucking mixtape in his hands instead, too afraid to pop it in a Walkman and drudge all the feelings up, even if it was the closest he was ever gonna get to Cas again—

His willpower slipped, and he hauled Cas back hard. Out in the hall again, they crashed to the opposite side. Dean nailed him to the wall, bodies flush, and felt them hard against each other. He ignored the rattle of the door beside their heads, the number on the front of it, and how many doors away from Sam that really was at this point. 

Was he asleep? Was he listening? Did it matter?

_Nothing mattered._

“I need you,” Dean panted into his open mouth. The turn of his jaw. The heat of his neck. “I need you so bad.” 

“Then we’re going the wrong way,” he hummed back. “Your room’s over there.” His voice toyed with the shadows and finished sweet, gentle. A stark contrast to his desperate lips and heat-flushed face. Those wild eyes that were always saying so much more than his words ever did.

Dean slipped Cas’ coat from his shoulders, listened to it hit the floor as Cas willingly shrugged it off. His hands came back to Dean, slid up under his shirt, fingers fanning wide and warm over his sides. _Solid, and big and so fucking grounding,_ and he pushed Dean back, easy steps toward the room.

Dean wised up, turned, and didn’t stop till he was at his dresser, whirring sounds in his ears that might as well have been a jet plane rather than blood pressure. He fished the lube from his top drawer. He tucked it in his palm, and felt the room go cold. 

He rubbed his face. Took a breath, and half expected to see Cas gone when he turned back, but Cas wasn’t. 

He was just standing there now, by the closed bedroom door, exactly as Dean had left him. Red, bitten lips and lopsided tie. Nearly naked without that trench coat, the damn thing making a fine doormat for one of the spare rooms now. 

He looked good, Dean realized in a rush. Not just _alive,_ but fresh in a way Dean hadn’t seen him in a long time-- _maybe ever_. Warm skin and content face. Healthy body. 

_I’ve gotta be dreaming._

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk?” Cas asked quietly. 

Dean was probably making a face. _Probably a scared face_. Because how the hell was he supposed to tell Cas he was afraid that this was all fake? That Cas was still dead, and this was the fever dream he’d kill himself after when he finally woke up. 

“No,” Dean stumbled. “I wanna do anything— _everything with you_ \--but talk right now.” He took a chance, tossed the lube, and Cas caught it. Looked at it with a sliding arc that hit Dean back hotter than he expected it to.

“Okay,” he said, little nod. Throat bobbing at his tight collar. He slid close, touched Dean soft. Planted a kiss in his temple. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered. “I wanna give it to you.”

 _I want you,_ Dean screamed as they folded together, and Cas took his face in his hands. _Any of you. All of you. I wanna feel like I can breathe again. I want you to leave me with something I can still have tomorrow, after it’s over, and you’re not here with me like this—_

But he couldn’t say that _,_ so he huffed a shaky breath instead, eyes squeezing shut as he breathed Cas in. Lips cataloging the sharp curve of Cas’ cheek, and gritty pull of his midnight beard as Dean skirted him with a feather-touch. He was throwing smells like ocean spray, and an old-world expression that never failed to pop lightbulbs and spill sparks in Dean’s gut. 

That empty bottle of Wild Turkey haunted Dean. No more liquor in it to wrangle this rabid feeling down. To screw his head back on straight, and convince him to take a breath. _To_ _swallow._

_He needed just one more shot—_

But, he didn’t have it. 

“You,” he whispered, desperate, hips curling, and time unrelenting. “I want you,” and he watched Cas level that electric look, w _ant_ stringing through his brow like tapestry. 

"Okay."

 

**Author's Note:**

> [winchester-reload on tumblr](http://winchester-reload.tumblr.com/)


End file.
